Non-subscribers

Finn stopped by to say hi again

Finn stopped by to say hi again Monday night. It was startling and real enough that I got out of bed and ran my finger across his name on the box of ashes on my bookshelf.

Then I listened to the wind and rain.

And then I smiled. It was so good to see my old boy again. He’d ridden back on the wings of a dying hurricane to tell me everything was going to be okay.

I understand some will roll their eyes at this. But several dog owners have since told me it's old hat to them. In my own experience, once a loved one passes, there’s radio silence. It’s not that I don’t believe in spiritual encounters. But in my own life, they’ve been so rare. I never hear from my brother, mother or father.

Naturally, Finn would be the exception. Irish wolfhounds are quirky giants and their love and devotion are a singularly powerful, pure force.

When the Irma came Monday night, it wasn’t the monster that hit Florida. The rain was a thin coat the wind wore as it lurched in shudders and puffs across the hills and the night.

It kept Peggy and I up, through. We lost seven trees to a freak storm in 2016, and I listened Monday night for the sound of trees falling again with dread.

It had been a long weekend watching Irma hook towards Tampa, where many of our dearest friends live. Slowly, we heard they were all okay.

And then Irma stretched here. Around midnight I tossed in the towel and tried to sleep.

Some time later I was with Finn at the groomers, my first clue that I was dreaming. We never took Finn to the groomers. We always did it ourselves.

But there we were and the embarassed owner said the girl who does Finn’s nails hadn’t made it to work yet. Would we mind taking a seat and waiting?

Instead, Finn and I went through the screen door for a stroll. Here’s what gets me. Finn was doing his happy walk and I was hanging onto the leash to keep up. It was his leash, a nice leather one with silver Celtic medallions. We don’t use that one anymore.

He wore it as he strutted and pranced and did the mischievous canter that said he was excited and happy.

Then I was back in bed, smiling…So that’s how it was going to be.

Finn left us in May. There’d been wind that day, too, a stiff, oddly persistent wind that made me think of four years earlier when he stood in a bandshell in Dunedin, Florida, his fur rippling as another hurricane churned up the far side of Florida.

He stood in that gale, grinning. He was a happy, contented boy, no matter what his circumstances.

A strange wind took him away from us in May. Another brought him briefly home this week. I’m still smiling. Finn was happy. My heart feels lighter knowing he dropped by to say, “Relax, everything’s going to be okay.”

Just a dream? It was unlike any I remember. Because afterwards there was a whiff of sun-baked hay in the room. His fur smelled like that the day I held him close…and then had to let him go.

Next time I’ll remember to hold him tighter.

Bob McMillan is a columnist, section editor and lead paginator for the Herald-Citizen.